Rangon, Yangoon, Mandalay

After five days in the UAE its time for us to get stuck into the holiday side of the trip proper with the flight from Dubai to Myanmar. Not without its excitements, as it turned out, since ground delays at Dubai meant our flight was over an hour late both taking off and landing into Bangkok, our transit point for onward flight to Yangon. By the time we land, the connection looks impossibly tight (barely 30 minutes) but happily the onward flight is similarly delayed, so we  - and the dozen or so other late arrivals - get on the plane no problem.
But not our bags. As we stand bleary eyed in the baggage reclaim at Yangon airport some sixteen hours after crawling out of bed at 0430, it soon becomes apparent that our luggage has decided to extend its stay in the Thai capital. Well, at least we have the basics - er, us - and the helpful baggage reclaim lady and the even more helpful Sandha, our local tour guide, get right on the case to get us and our bags re-united, which finally happens late afternoon the next day.
Now, first off - some background. Myanmar is the modern name of what - in old colonial times and after - was once Burma. The name was changed by the ruling generals during the time it was largely a closed country to Myanmar, so that was bad, but then people got to thinking that Myanmar was actually the ancient name for their country and put them in touch with their roots, so that was good, and now it's Myanmar with pride, although the people and language are still seemingly referred to as Burmese. Similarly with Yangon, once Rangoon, although Mandalay seems to have been left alone as Mandalay, which doubtless would have pleased Mr Kipling. Clear?
Little chance to make much of Myanmar or Yangon on arrival that night, but when we arise next morning it is revealed in its full, colourful, rumbustious glory. In almost every way, Myanmar is everything the gulf states are not - and vice versa. So where there was hi-rise swank, now is low-build urban sprawl; where life once was pots of money is now largely just the daily scrabble for any of it. And where the streets were empty of all but cars, now is still cars (plus thousands of mostly chinese-built step-thru scooters, often vastly over-burdened with cargo human and/ or other), but also people - swarms of them everywhere. Overload for the senses, mostly in a good way, tho to be truthful, walking in downtown Yangon or Mandalay can be tiring. Main problem is sheer volume of traffic to be safely negotiated: whilst the standard of driving here is nothing like the beserker death-cab chaos one might encounter in - say - India, the lack of navigable pavements plus some fairly vague rules of the road make city navigation something of a chore.
In Yangon we meet the first of our tour guides, the charming Sandha, who takes us on a morning orientation of Yangon (so much easier than trying it alone) as well as around some of the main sites. Sian is very fond of her Buddhas and Pagodas, and, be assured, there is no shortage of them here. In the afternoon we bid farewell to Sandha and took the ferry across the river to the (even) poorer Dalla, where a bicycle rickshaw driver gave himself a coronary pedalling two brits around the sights, including a stop at a very rudimentary orphanage (see photo). That's how people here have to live.
Culture and food-wise Myanmar could crudely be described as a collision between Thailand, China and India (though that probably does none of the parties justice). In terms of development most of what you see is way behind its south-east asian peers (see - years of military rule, above). Mobile phones (ours) don't seem to work at all, though you do see plenty of national-only providers. Microchip technology aside, ambling around it could still be the nineties or even earlier. But all that is starting to change. Myanmar will catch up, and you get the sense it may not take very long.